


Dalish Crafts, Fine Dalish Crafts.

by wargandproud



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargandproud/pseuds/wargandproud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan teaches Solas how to make a mage staff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dalish Crafts, Fine Dalish Crafts.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the idea of Lavellan teaching Solas how to do something for once. Set in Haven. 
> 
> My first thing here so be nice to me. I know not what I do.

Night was falling over the last day of what had seemed like an eternity in the Hinterlands. The group finished their meal of roast rabbit with a foul miscellaneous root that Varric had dug up in a misguided attempt to help set up camp for the evening, while Lavellan poked absently at the fading fire with her staff.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you Lavellan,” Solas piped up, the first words he had said for some time, “Where did you get your staff?” 

Lavellan looked up from her pointless task, and felt instinctively for the twisted ironbark branches she kept near her at all times. 

“My staff? I made it.” 

Solas raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Lavellan wondered if he was about to mock her.

“It is fine work. May I see it?” He asked, hand outstretched. Lavellan felt her face grow hot and knew her pale vallaslin would be flushing scarlet across her dark skin, a tell that her siblings had teased her for mercilessly when the markings were first given to her. 

“You’re laughing at me.” She mumbled, handing it over, and feeling strangely naked without it by her side. 

“I am not. Am I so terrible that you think every word I say is a cruel jape?” a remark which caused Dorian to choke on his vegetables, though not for the first time this evening. 

“Okay now you are joking.” Dorian sputtered, banging his fist on his chest to displace the clearly trapped bit of whatever it was they were eating. “You spent twenty minutes talking about how the Elven written on that ruin back there had an accent slightly too slanted”. 

Solas ignored him and ran his hands over her staff, examining the carving. Lavellan wondered what small detail she had obviously gotten wrong, and was half expecting a chastisement, but instead Solas pointed it towards the fire pit and sent a small burst of flame to the centre of the logs. The fire burst back into life, bathing them all in warmth.

“I confess I am quite ignorant into how mage staffs are made. I usually take mine from fallen enemies if they have one superior to mine. Would you mind showing me how it is done?” 

At that Varric let out a great snort. 

“In the months that I’ve known you Chuckles, this is the first time I’ve heard you ask someone to teach you something. What’s wrong? They don’t give out crafting lessons in The Fade?” 

Solas shot him a dark look as Dorian began chuckling mercilessly. 

“Knowledge does not spring from nothingness Varric, even I must learn the things I know at some point.” 

“ _Even I must learn the things I know”_ Dorian mimicked, “Come on then, let me see the master craftsmanship that has the mighty Solas begging for a tutor.” 

“Please don’t-“ Lavellan started. She suddenly felt like a barefaced child again, standing by miserably while older children passed around her ragdoll. It seemed foolish really, to worry so about a thing she regularly used to shoot fireballs, but she had spent weeks on her staff and would be devastated if it was broken. 

“Remarkably well balanced”, Dorian mused, twirling her staff between his fingers. “Next time we’re in Val Royeaux, will you come with me to see the woman I pay an exorbitant sum to make staffs for me? Hers are not nearly so fine-tuned, and I want to see her face when I turn up with a Dalish elf who puts her work to shame.”

“You’re not about to ask for lessons too are you Dorian?” Lavellan groaned, burying her beet-red face in her hands. Solas was one thing, but the thought of teaching a Tevinter mage the correct way to strip bark from a branch made Levallan’s stomach squirm. “It’s quite simple honestly, you just need a long piece of wood or metal, some lyrium and a stone or some such for the tip to concentrate the energy through.”

It wasn’t that simple. It was a long complicated process if you wanted something half-decent, but she had no desire to go into it here lest she seem like a show off. She shot a pleading glance at Varric in the hopes he would change the subject.

“Don’t point those big elf eyes at me Princess”, Varric laughed, covering his eyes with his hands theatrically. “Looks like Cassandra has yet another job you can do for her Inquisition.” 

“I hate all of you”. Levallan said grimly, staring down at her remaining meat. 

At that, Varric laughed again, “I’m never one to upset a Dalish woman. You’re all adorable then you turn out to be blood mages or somehing. So I think I shall have to bid you all goodnight.” 

Lavellan had never agreed with something so strongly in her life. She had spent the last months being told how amazing she was for simply being in the right place at the right time, but being praised for something she had actually done was something else entirely, and was utterly embarrassing.

“Here here!” She said, raising her glass at the remaining members of the party, before extinguishing the fire with a flick of her wrist, ignoring Solas’ and Dorian’s cries as they were suddenly cast into darkness.

* * *

Levellan sank onto the bed of her little Haven home, groaning slightly as she sank into the mattress. Varric had whisked them to the inn to share a drink once they returned from the Hinterlands, and she had just escaped after he started telling the story of Hawke and the smugglers group she joined at Kirkwall, which at the last count she had heard three times. 

She fought the desire to lie down and sleep fully clothed, and instead moved to remove her boots. She grimaced as she removed them, they had none small enough to fit her feet so had given her some meant for a child. They fit poorly and cut her feet terribly, but shemlen stone was unforgiving to bare feet, even feet that had spent a lifetime walking through the woods. 

She finished her task and lay down for a moment, her eyes drifting closed when there was a knock at the door causing her to jolt awake again. She could have screamed. If it was Josephine wanting her to speak to some simpering Orlesian noble then the woman was risking a lightning bolt to the face. 

Slowly, Lavellan rose and opened the door an inch, concocting some Elven mishmash of words to blurt at whoever was behind it so they’d think she was putting some Dalish curse on them and flee. 

That wasn’t going to work. It was Solas. 

“What is it Solas?” She asked, opening the door fully. She had spent many a night talking with Solas, asking him of his journeys in The Fade, but she had no interest in hearing of anything other than a soft pillow and her blankets right now. 

“Are you busy, Lavellan? Only I had the things you said you need to make a staff and was wondering if you could show me how it is done.” 

And then, Dread Wolf take him, he pulled out two long branches from beside the door frame, and fished out two hunks of drakestone from his pocket along with a small vile of lyrium.  
Lavellan stared at him blankly.

“You were serious about this?” She had forced the prior conversation on the matter out of her mind from sheer humiliation, and had hoped he would have done something similar.

Instead he looked at her in that peculiar direct way he had, the way which made the long dormant butterflies in her stomach start to stir, even though she would never dare admit it to anyone. She couldn’t imagine the mocking she would get from Dorian. 

He inclined his head in a sort of mock bow, “Of course I am. I am your willing student hahren.” Lavellan cringed at the title and had to fight the urge to punch him. 

She dithered. On the one hand, she was exhausted, but on the other, she had bothered Solas at similar ungodly hours to ask about some snippet of information she had read about something Fade related, and she did not want to seem unwilling to return the favour. 

That, and she had a teeny tiny thing for him. 

“Fine. Fine! Come in”, she stepped out of the door frame and beckoned him into her tiny dwelling, rubbing the side of her head. “I haven’t cleaned or anything though, I have never had a guest here.” 

“I have seen worse than a bit of untidiness.” 

Nevertheless, Lavellan shifted some things into drawers while attempting to look as if she was searching for her tools. She grabbed the small leather pouch from within the chest that contained most of her worldly possessions,

“My tools are not great, they were Blackwall’s old set that he gave me when I told him I like to make things too.” The Warden had been surprised when she mentioned it, how she used to save small scraps of wood from the clan’s bonfire and carve them into tiny halla whenever she felt her worries were overtaking her. “Please, sit down,” she gestured at the one chair she had while herself sitting cross legged on the floor, but Solas ignored her and placed himself directly oppsite her, legs folded neatly underneath him. 

She grabbed one of the branches, too thin for the task in truth, and a small knife from the pouch. Solas did the same. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Blackwall lately?” He noted, and Lavellan glanced up and met his eyes. 

_Damned butterflies again._

“He is showing me how to work metal to make a blade for my staff, Dalish campfires are not hot enough to craft things from ore.” 

“Oh,” the other elf said quietly. Lavellan did not much notice, she was too busy blustering with the materials Solas had brought. 

“Okay so you need to take the bark off the branch before you start”. Lavellan placed the knife near the tip, nearly flush against it while still catching the bark. She moved the knife down in a smooth motion, bringing off a strip of bark with a satisfying swish sound. 

She glanced up at Solas, who was seemingly trying to hack his branch into pieces, judging by the way he was holding his knife. 

Creators. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Lavellan wound a finger around a strand of her hair and gave a slight pull, bringing away a single white strand which she wrapped around the grip of her staff before she began winding the strip of leather over the top. She looked up at the slightly incredulous noise from Solas, and giggled when she saw his confused expression. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, ceasing his sanding of his own staff for a moment.

“It’s good luck to have a strand of the user’s hair in the grip.” She said, as Solas rubbed his hand over his bare head absent mindedly, clearly an old habit.

“I can let you off this time though”, she smirked, making Solas laugh. It occurred to Lavellan how rarely she actually heard him do so. She ignored her flicker of pride that she had been the one to coax the sound from him. 

She finished wrapping the leather with a flourish, and tucked the free end under the binding so as not to cause a crease. 

Solas resumed his sanding again, if he was annoyed at how much of a beginner he was at this, he did not show it. “How did you learn this craft?” He asked, glancing up at her again. 

“A shemlen apostate sought refuge with our clan for a while when I was a child, and he showed me how when he saw me in the woods practicing with an adult sized staff and damned near pissed his breaches laughing.” She was the only mage child in her clan for two generations, so the only other staffs they had to hand were Keeper Deshanna’s old ones. There were none small enough for her to use comfortably, but the keeper had not dared travel too close to shemlen cities so they could procure one for her, lest the Templars find them and take away their only hope for a new keeper. 

Solas waited for her to finish her musings, and she continued.

“I was supposed to just make what I needed, but I enjoyed it so much I kept doing it. Eventually I asked if I could go to a shemlen market to sell some of what I had made, but Keeper Deshanna would not allow it.” She frowned at the memory. Her brother had been the one to suggest her valasslin be for June, the god of the craft. A cruel idea, in the end. 

“These thoughts upset you?” Solas asked, not harshly. 

She made a non-committal hum. “The day after I received my valasslin Keeper Deshanna declared me First.”

“And you did not want this _honour_?”

She bristled slightly at the comment, she was used to being overly defensive with Solas when it came to Dalish matters.

“Firsts do not act as craftsmen. But I did not have any choice, my people needed me. The clan must have a keeper.” 

Solas’ face darkened at that, and she suspected she had offended his anti-Dalish sensibilities in some way.

“I understand completely” he said instead, surprising her. He finished tying his grip with surprising clumsiness for one who usually moved with such grace. He flourished his finished creation slightly and laughed as a few flakes of snow burst from the end of it. Lavellan shook her head exasperatedly, it should not be used for magic yet, the lyrium had not yet had time to take to the wood. 

“May I see?” she asked, hand outstretched. Solas handed over his, whatever-it-was, and she surveyed it wordlessly. Throughout this whole ordeal she half suspected Solas was humouring her, that he was going to produce something far superior to what she could do, but what he had made was indeed terrible. The carving was inconsistent around the shaft, bits of bark still remained, and the drakestone would come detached the second a half hearted spell was sent through it. 

She was wondering what to say about it when she caught sight of Solas’ grin at her. 

“Perhaps I should stick to painting?” He ventured. 

She laughed, though she hoped not unkindly. “I’m afraid I must agree.” 

Solas pulled what she had made that evening towards him and balanced it in his hands. He pointed it in the direction of a scrap piece of parchment, which suddenly folded itself into the shape of a small bird. 

“Would you mind if I kept this? My own staff is a little worse for wear as of late. A few weeks ago I set my own coat tails on fire and Vivienne has not let me hear the end of it.” 

Lavellan froze. 

“No-“ she said, a little too quickly judging by the flicker of hurt across Solas’ face. “I mean, not that one. It’s poor quality wood, it needs more lyrium and it hasn’t even been varnished. And drakestone will be no good for your spirit magic.” She blushed, something she found herself doing more often around Solas, she was easily carried away with this topic. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” 

Solas shook his head. “Don’t be. It is nice to see people passionate about something they care greatly.” 

Her stomach tightened and she made a face at him. 

“I can make you a better one though? If you’d like?” She offered. “If you’d be happy to carry around Dalish craftsmanship that is.” 

“I’d love that, truly.” 

He looked in her eyes again making her feel as though she’d been hit with a jolt of lightning. For one mad moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but his eyes slid away from her and towards the window behind her head.

“Look at that!” He exclaimed, “The sun is coming up, I am so sorry Lavellan I have kept you all night.” 

She glanced behind her to see he was infact correct, the sky had begun lightening to a shade of dark pink. 

“It is fine, honestly.” She said, a little shakily. Then she laughed. “I fear you may have people talking though, spending all night in my cabin.” 

Solas smiled at that then stood to leave, holding out his hand to help her up. As she stood her muscles screeched in protest, they had definitely been there for longer than she had realised. 

“If that is the worst rumour they can think of about the unknown elven apostate, I shall consider myself lucky.” He placed a hand on the door handle.“Thank you for tonight Levellan, I enjoyed myself immensely. I have been alone for so long, it is sometimes strange to enjoy another’s company so.” 

She smiled in agreement. “Perhaps you could show me how to paint next time?” 

“I shall!” He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Sleep well lethallan, I shall endeavour to dissuade your advisors if they come seeking you with some petty trouble.” 

And with that he was gone. Levellan closed the door behind him then leaned against it as her knees buckled slightly, feeling like a cliché in one of Varric’s terrible novels. _Lethellan. Friend._ She wondered why such a mundane word had had such an effect on her. She had plenty of friends, especially since taking the helm of The Inquisition. 

But, she mused, there were none that she wanted to impress half so much.


End file.
